


Cradle songs of comfort and bones gnawed by teeth

by silentGambler



Category: Dishonored (Video Games), Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crossover, Gen, Happens after ep4 and before ep5, M/M, Mark of the Outsider (Dishonored), Mentioned Corvosider, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sal Fisher and Larry Johnson Are Not Related, Some things happen according to SF canon and some change, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, but you don't need to know the plot of Dishonored to read this, this is me throwing a lot of Dishonored into Sally Face canon basically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25586473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentGambler/pseuds/silentGambler
Summary: There is nothing left to do now. The cult has him exactly where they want to have him. Just the thought of it makes Sally feel like the walls around him are watching, the shadows waiting for him with grinning mouths. It unnerves him.At least the dreams are a welcome distraction for once.
Relationships: Sal Fisher/Larry Johnson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this and I love it so much that I just had to write it. So I give you Sal with magical powers and the Outsider meddling with mortal affairs as usual.

Days drag one into another, routine setting in despite it all. 

The ordeal before the trial had been more eventful than the trial itself, but it left Sal exhausted all the same. His sentence has been given. Ash’s testimony had done nothing to help him, but a small part of him was glad he could see her once more before being thrown back into his cell. He had allowed the fog in his mind to set in the days that followed, going through the motions without caring much about anything. But now that he has had enough time to process it, dread sets into his chest. There is nothing left to do now. The cult has him exactly where they want to have him. Just the thought of it makes Sally feel like the walls around him are watching, the shadows waiting for him with grinning mouths. It unnerves him. 

At least the dreams are a welcome distraction for once. Sally isn’t a stranger to weird dreams, definitely not. But ever since the trial, his bizarre dreamscape has taken an odd turn. He expected the murder night or the trial scene to be replayed during his sleep, or old nightmares to come haunt him like they had days before he went in front of the jury. Instead he dreams of islands of stone and half destroyed buildings floating in a seemingly endless void. There is a distant, washed out light that stays in what he assumes is the centre of this place no matter where he goes. It feels like being underwater; he could swear he has caught sight of monstrous whales drifting slowly through the grey-blue void more than once. He has also seen pebbles and water floating past him, as if falling up into the abyss. Those make him feel uneasy and he tries not to dwell much on them. It is for the better; focusing too much on the strange physics of his dreams seems to result in him partially waking up and going back to dreamless sleep.

Sal, however, is often too busy exploring the almost-ruins scattered as islands. The one thing that both annoys and slightly amuses him is the fact that even in dreams, he can't seem to escape his prison uniform. He wanders around the soft light and sharp stone with his bright blue hair and clashing jumpsuit, feeling like he has stepped into a place out of time.

He can remember some of the places held within these new dreams. The park where his mother and him had gone on that last picnic; the hospital, blood and equipment and discarded bandages everywhere. He has found the 402 apartment two separate times. The first time it had been mostly empty, just filled with closed boxes and some furniture, the way it had been when they first moved in; the floor had been fractured and uneven, with slabs of dark stone jutting out of the corners and walls, reaching for the nonexistent ceiling. The sight had made Sally’s heart hurt so much that it had woken him up. 

The second time had been worse. The place was exactly as he last remembered it before he had moved out; his bed, his posters, all his things were in their places. Hell, even Gizmo had been curled up on his bed and he had felt so real when Sal had given in to pet his fur lightly. It was so overwhelming that Sally had curled up against his old bed, ripped his mask off and cried like he hadn’t allowed himself to do in days. He had woken up slowly, feeling tired and sore for the rest of the day. 

He has yet to meet someone other than his cat inside these dreams. This place seems to be built around his memories, so it intrigues him that there's not a single person in them. It's just him, the distant echoes of whale songs and the strange fractured islands that construct his memories from obsidian and heartache. 

Despite the emptiness, he feels like he's being watched carefully.

Sal doesn't care much for his time in the waking world. He keeps to himself, doing no harm but taking no shit. He goes through the motions. Sal is only mildly concerned of how much he finds himself longing for more of the abyss of memories that waits for him once unconsciousness takes over at night. He's considered mentioning it to his new doctor, but he's still not completely sure if he can trust the man. For all Sally knows, he could be part of the cult; yet another person keeping an eye on him. 

The dreams continue. Sal vaguely knows he should be more concerned about being this drawn to this dreamscape. He genuinely can't remember a time where he was actually excited about sleeping; nightmares will do that to you. But now he almost feels consumed by the need to go back to this abyss, seeking the solace of his memories under the watered down light.

It's been a little more than a month after the trial when the dreams change yet again.

Tonight, Sal is wandering the dilapidated Addison apartments. The front is almost intact, but the floors are missing most of the structure; it's more a husk of a building than anything else, but he's still drawn inside. There are bloodstains on the carpet that make his stomach flip; he hastily ignores those in favor of the elevator shaft. The metal doors are missing, but when he peeks inside, he sees enough of the jagged stone pushing out of the walls to allow him to climb down to the basement.

The lower level is fragmented into several islands, scattered enough that Sally is forced to jump from one to another when the platforms run out and there's no stepping stones in between them.

It's strange, seeing the apartment floating in the pale light. He thinks he will never get used to witnessing these scenes forever paused in time. As Sal descends the makeshift steps and jumps across ledges, he finds boxes full of belongings, papers scattered on the ground, even a mug perpetually overturned, the liquid inside frozen mid fall. It takes him a moment for everything to click; this is Larry's apartment as he last left it. His heart wrenches at the realization and he stops in the middle of what used to be Larry's room.

The dream feels cold and heavy all of a sudden. Sally can almost hear the faint echo of rain falling. He's suddenly itching to see what he'll find if he dares look into the old cardboard boxes; will his brain even allow him to fill the gaps? Sal is not sure he wants to find out. Instead he forces himself to move, to raise his head and look straight ahead.

He regrets it immediately as he sees what lies before him. The treehouse taunts him in the hazy distance, standing as tall and menacing as it did that night years ago.

A step turns into two, turns into three, and soon Sally has traipsed the stretch of stone and memories that separated him from the solitary tree. The ache in his heart only grows more and more. He's close enough to touch the trunk, to let his fingertips pass over one of the wooden steps, when he hears something crinkle under his shoe. Sal looks down. There, in the same plastic bag he remembers, hastily folded and left for Sally to find yet again, is Larry's last words. 

He steps back, stumbling. He's had this nightmare before countless times; he shouldn't have expected to escape it even in these new strange dreams. Hands shaking, Sally reaches for the note, taking it out carefully. He knows how this goes.

But as he opens the note, he finds not the words burned into his mind, but instead something that feels like a punch to the gut. It is Larry's handwriting, a single phrase written over and over again, like a litany of Sally's pain.

 _'You cannot save him_.'

He falls to his knees, sobs escaping him before he can stop them. The letter drops with him, onto the grass and stone, words glaring up at him. Sally hates this, this mocking nightmare; he wants to wake up so badly now.

"Fuck…" he grits out as he curls onto himself, tears blurring his sight. His voice feels too rough and disruptive in the silence of this place. "Please, wake up…" He shuts his eyes and digs his fingers through his hair, pulling hard, willing himself out of the dream.

There is pain and Sal jolts up. 

He takes a deep, shaky breath and tries to ground himself. Slowly, still reeling from the nightmare, he opens his eyes. The tree, the cold stone and blue washed out light greets him instead of his cell. Tension grows as he realizes that he feels as if he's being watched once again. Not just that, but he can actually feel a presence behind him, silently staring and waiting. Whatever this place he is in, it's definitely not a dream. Sal scrambles to his feet and turns with a little too much violence to face whoever or whatever is here with him now.

Before him stands someone. Or at least something masquerading as a human. Tall, all sharp edges, dark clothes and pale skin. They look young, but slightly older than Sal himself. What catches his attention is their eyes; the seamless black of the eyes seems to swallow any light and pierces his very soul. Sally suddenly feels completely out of place, standing out from the underwater landscape with his own bright hair and obnoxiously orange jumpsuit. When he’s finally able to tear his gaze away from their face, he can see that there’s strange wisps of dark mist curling around their body, like black smoke continuously blooming from the core of this being. 

"Who are you?" He asks after what it feels like an eternity. The being crosses their arms over their chest, emotionless face slowly put into motion; they're smiling ever so slightly. Sally feels the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end. It's not a leer, but he somehow feels as if he’s in the presence of a dangerous being.

"Your life has taken a turn, has it not?" the being drones in a monotone that sends goosebumps up his arms. It is not a question, even if it's intoned as one. "I have many names, most lost to time. I am the Outsider. And I've come to offer a gift."

Sally, despite his conflicting emotions and his instincts screaming at him not to taunt the otherworldly creature before him, scoffs and glares up at the Outsider. "A gift? I've dealt enough with a cult to know that kind of shit does more damage than good."

Even with the harsh tone, the Outsider seems unperturbed. Amused, even. "My gift is not forced upon anyone. I merely offer and it is your choice to accept or not." 

Sally is still confused about the nature of this dream, if it is one at all. He has encountered strange creatures before, but somehow this feels… different. He vaguely wonders if he'll tell Dr. Enon's replacement about this.

"Well then, what is this gift?" Sally decides to humor the creature before him. Mimicking the other's posture, he crosses his arms over his chest. He wonders if maybe he's pushing his luck a bit too much, but finds that he doesn't particularly care. His curiosity is stronger. "Can it help me do something against the Devourers of God?" After a pause, he adds, "Can you?"

There is a shift in the Outsider's expression and Sally resists the urge to stumble back. For a moment, he feels in his bones the oppression of the abyss around them, the threat of a maw full of sharp teeth closing around him, those eyes made of void threatening to drown him. It's gone in an instant, leaving him shaken to the core.

"Dear boy," the Outsider speaks and the world around them seems to vibrate with the echoes of his voice, "I am the god they think they can consume." 

If he had any suspicions that this was still a dream, the cold dread that fills Sal as those words are uttered immediately makes him forget them. This being, this deity, is really standing before him. And for some reason, they still have not stricken him down for his insolence, or whatever deities are supposed to do when you doubt their power in their faces. No, the Outsider stands perfectly still, as if waiting for Sally’s answer. The gift, the one they had mentioned; the offer still stands between them, unanswered. 

Sally swallows thickly and looks up, through his mask and into those endless eyes. “You said… something about a gift.”

“That I did.” The god almost seems to be smirking, but it’s gone as soon as he blinks.“You will play a pivotal role in the days to come. For this, I have chosen you and drawn you into the Void.” It feels like they’re looking straight into Sally’s soul. They lift their hand and offer it, empty and palm up, to Sal. 

A silent question.

He considers his options. He is being offered a gift, yes, but it is very clearly a choice. He can refuse it if he wants to. But that’s the problem; _does he_? What happens if he rejects this deity, does he go back to his cell, wake up with a vague memory of his dreams and not another pull to the Void? He waits in his cell for the inevitable end that will come probably sooner rather than later? If the being speaks the truth —Sal is surprised to find that he believes they are, even after all he’s been through— he’s not only the very god the Devourers are dealing with, but they’ve come to find Sally specifically. That alone tells him that the being means business. And well, being perfectly honest, what does he have left to lose? 

Sal Fisher reaches out to the Outsider. 

Their hands do not touch. Before his fingers can reach the spindly ones of the deity, there’s a new shift in the air around them and the wisps of smoke turn into a swirl that swallows the shape of the being before him. The space is empty now, deity gone. And yet, all that Sally can focus on is his hand. Something is etching itself in the back of it, burning from the inside; the flesh glows as if filled with blazingly bright coals. He hisses in discomfort, gripping his wrist with his other hand as if that would somehow contain the fire eating him inside.

It’s over in a matter of seconds. What is left on his skin is a completely black Mark, made of thin, angular lines, dotted with small circles. It vaguely reminds him of a bird, with its wings spread wide. Sal closes his hand, trying to get rid of the strange tingling feeling left behind, and the Mark _glows_. A bright blue light that dissolves into a golden yellow on the edges, seemingly coming from within the Mark itself. He can hear himself let out a choked gasp. 

“There are forces in the world and beyond the world, great forces that men call magic.” The Outsider is nowhere to be seen, but Sally can hear them as if they were both quietly talking into his ear and echoing through the Void. “And now these forces will serve your will. Use this newfound power, my gift to you.” 

Their voice makes him shiver, as if he were facing an icy ocean threatening to drown him. The magic leaves an electric taste in his mouth, almost like the salty sea air. He feels he’s standing at the edge of— _something_.

“Come find me.” 

Sally has no choice but to oblige.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'These forces will serve your will,' the Outsider had said, and it now begins to dawn on Sal what this means for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with more of this, enjoy!

With the Outsider gone, the Void has shifted around Sal. The apartments are gone and in their place, a winding staircase made of branches and jagged dark stone that leads straight to the topmost part of the tree is before him. The treehouse brings him both a familiar warmth and a terrible pain. One of its walls is torn open, allowing entrance; it almost looks like a gaping wound exposing the insides. It is the only visible path, with the abyss surrounding the small island of stone and dirt he’s standing on, so he assumes the Outsider must want him to find his way to the top of the tree. Sal climbs the steps with ease until he’s met with a break in the stairwell, with the space between the stone steps is far too large for him to just jump. There's no other way for him to move forward. 

He supposes there must be a trick, some way to bridge the abyss and get to the other side. Even if the deity seems cryptic and hasn’t told him everything that’s going on, he gets the feeling that the Outsider wouldn’t leave him stranded here without purpose. He glances down at his Marked hand, wondering. It is then that Sal hears something whispered in the back of his mind. It's a strange sound, like a word in a foreign tongue that he can't quite decipher, but he feels the need to repeat it in a breath of voice. Sally brings up his hand as if it was an afterthought. He feels almost in a trance as he grasps at air with his fingers closing around nothing, and the Mark _glows._

The world goes completely gray, watery. Time is not exactly frozen; he can hear the creak of the branches and see the loose small stones still floating up from the ground and into the emptiness above, but everything is moving so very slowly. Everything but Sally. And in front of him, on the other end of the abyss, where the last of the stairwell gives way to the treehouse, there is a bright, wispy sphere that burns in a similar pale blue light as the one coming from the center of the Void. It moves when Sal moves his clenched fist, adjusting its position. 

The wisp of light floats right above the very edge of the stone when he lets his hand fall open. There's a slight burn from inside the Mark and the world shifts around him. He feels like he's blinking out of existence, shifting places and blinking back into it, now precariously balanced on the edge of the treehouse. Sally looks down to his Marked hand and he can still see the last embers of the blue-gold light as they fizzle at the edges of it. 'These forces will serve your will,' the Outsider had said, and it now begins to dawn on Sal what this means for him. He wonders what else he can do with the Mark’s powers.

He ventures into the destroyed treehouse. The inside is just as he remembers: a mixture of Larry's and Jim's belongings thrown all over the place in apparent chaos. But there's a new addition to the space. An altar made out of dark wood, some planks whole and some splintered, adorned with long, rich, purple cloths with golden accents. It’s raised in the corner where he and Larry used to sit together. What's even more striking than the presence of the crooked wooden construction is the fact that the winding lengths of cloth seem to defy gravity and swirl around the structure itself and upwards to the halfway gone ceiling, as if swept up by non-existent wind. 

There’s a pile of strange artifacts floating on it too, just barely touching the top of the shrine. From afar they seem like uneven, smooth slabs of stone carved and painted with the same symbol on his hand and mounted into metal pieces; a strange mist similar to that which surrounds the Outsider bursts from within them and curls before dissolving into nothing. Once Sal can finally make himself move forward and pluck one of them from the space above the altar, however, he recognizes the strange texture of bone under his fingers. The artifacts make a constant low sound, as if several voices whispered, hummed and sang at the same time, muffled by the wind.

“In the days that follow, your trials will be great.” The Outsider materializes from the side of the Shrine, arms crossed over their chest and walking slowly to circle Sal as they speak. Their feet don’t really touch the ground, he notices, but the motions seem to be the same. “Seek the ancient runes bearing my Mark in the lonely places of your world and at shrines raised in my name. These runes will grant you powers beyond those of others.”

They stop in one fluid, graceful motion, standing between the shrine and Sally. Despite being so close, Sal’s eyes seem to glide over the finest details of their face; it’s almost as if he’s unable to focus on this being. He can see them, but not any specific features at all except for their eyes. He knows for a fact that their intense gaze is fixed upon him. The Outsider uncrosses their arms, holding their palms up as dark wisps curl more and more between them. Sal is bracing himself for the sting of magic one again. “To help you, I give you this: the Heart of a living thing, molded by my hands.”

Something forms out of flesh and shadows, bright purple light filtering between the black mist. What is left floating in the middle of the Outsider’s open hands, almost warping the air around it with the magic that surrounds it, is a heart. Mechanical pieces have been added into the soft muscle; the construction of the Heart reminds Sal of the shrine, with its crooked stitches and wrappings of barbed wire. In the center of it, close to the valves, a Deadstone —like the one that Larry had used to help him destroy the pillars in Addison’s Apartments— has been fitted into the flesh. The slow beat of its vessels seems to thrum in Sal's very chest. It's unnerving, like everything in this place, but there is something oddly familiar in the feeling of this Heart beating in turn to his own.

Sal reaches out, takes the Heart into his own hand. It feels lighter than what he expected, warm against his fingertips; the beating stays steady, unperturbed by the change of hands. Having it up close now, he can tell there’s some sort of internal clockwork inside too. There’s the slight sound of mechanical parts turning and clicking into place whenever the chambers expand and contract. The Outsider gestures to the bone rune in his other hand, and Sally frowns, confused, but brings the marked charm up close to the Heart. Instantly, the heartbeat quickens to an almost frantic rhythm; the closer he keeps them, the faster it thrums in his hand. 

The deity smiles, cryptic and almost not there at all. “This Heart will guide you to my runes, no matter how they may be hidden.” They reach out to trace the Deadstone with the very tips of their fingers, barely touching it at all, but the stone reacts all the same. There’s purple energy cracking along the edges of it and the Heart seems to beat even faster. “You will hear many secrets too.”

“Secrets?” Sal speaks up again, voice rough. He puts the rune away and the heartbeat quiets down to the same steady pace as before. He stares up at the Outsider, brows knit together under the mask. “What sort of secrets?” Sally’s attention goes back to the bone charms laying still on the wooden altar. He takes the rest of them, putting them away carefully in the pockets of his jumpsuit; a couple are as big as the palm of his hand, but the others are smaller, individual bones set into rings of metal. Those will be easier to hide, he figures. 

The Outsider steps back, retreating, letting him take the rest of the bones in silence. They offer no answer to Sal’s question. It only makes him frown even more in confusion and suspicion, but he has a feeling he’ll find soon enough. Once the charms are whisper-singing from his pockets, Sal turns to face the deity, only to find them at the entrance of the treehouse, the toes of their boots just barely touching the edge of the wooden floor. The Outsider is looking at Sally over their shoulder as he comes closer.

“How you use what I have given you falls upon you, as it has to the others before you.” The deity says after a beat of silence. The light that usually seems so distant and diffuse seems to be harsher here, bathing them both in sharp contrasts that makes the Outsider look almost as if they were themselves carved out of the same dark stone that surrounds them. Sal blinks and the illusion is gone.

There is what could pass as a subtle smile on the Outsider’s lips. “And now I return you to your world, but know that I will be watching with great interest.”

Before he can protest, before he can even think of anything else to try to ask or demand, Sal can feel an incredible exhaustion overtake his body. He feels his legs become heavy before crumbling under him, but he never hits the ground nor does he fall into the infinite abyss below. He just feels his eyes closing as if he had been fighting off sleep for days. The last thing he sees before his vision is swallowed by darkness is the Outsider dissolving into a burst of mist and flecks of light, and the treehouse bathed in bright light.

Sal wakes up slowly. Although he hasn't opened his eyes yet, he can tell it's still the middle of the night by the lack of banging doors and yelling. He breathes in deep and lets it out after a couple of seconds. He's okay, he's safe— as safe as he can be, at least. That had been such a strange dream-turned-nightmare; he thinks he can still feel the burn of the Mark this being had given him. 

As he shakes off sleep from his head, he snorts at the idea of the God the very cult is seeking coming directly for him. He wasn't that special. No one was out there looking for him. He stretches and turns to his side to try and fall back asleep, but there's a sharp pain at his hip the moment he rests his weight on it. His eyes snap open and he rolls back flat onto his back, reaching for the place where he had felt the stab. Sal is met by metal and bone melded together, digging into fabric and flesh.

Throwing his covers off with a kick and scrambling to sit up, Sally shakily pulls out the contents of his pockets and lets them fall onto the thin mattress. Several bone charms, all of different sizes and carved with different symbols, hum at him from the bed. The bigger slabs of bone, the runes, weight heavy from the pockets near his chest. He's sure that if he were to check, he'd find exactly the same Mark carved into them: the one from his dream. The one that is burnt into his own skin.

"How—" Sal's voice is barely above a hoarse whisper, he can't hear himself over the rush of blood in his ears. He brings his hand, the one that should be Marked, up to eye level and sure enough, the black brand on his skin is thrumming with contained power. He can feel it, radiating from the Mark to the rest of his body. The strange gold-blue light fills the lines in his skin once again when he closes his fist tightly; there is no whisper into his ear, but the surge of magic is unmistakably the same as his dream.

_Not a dream_ , Sally reminds himself as he grasps at the bonecharms with shaking hands. They're almost too warm under his clammy hands, but he can't keep them thrown about; they need to be hidden away, before anyone can ask what they are or where they’ve come from. The last thing Sal needs is giving the cult more reason to give him grief. He tangles a hand in his messy hair and brings another one to his chest; his heart is hammering away and the frantic heartbeat only becomes more panicked the moment he remembers the Outsider’s parting gift.

He paws at the covers of his bed, not caring for a moment about the clacking of bones, nor the loud gasps in which his breath comes. If the bone charms are here, then it must be too. He needs to find that Heart, needs to hide it. Gods know what the guards will do if they see it in his possession. He shoves his face in his hands, trying to make himself breathe slower; he’s shaking so badly. “Please…” he whispers to no one, pleading, but it’s nowhere to be found. 

Sal hears a noise from somewhere outside his cell and tenses, immediately looking up. A couple of seconds go by and there’s only silence to meet him. No sound of footsteps coming closer, so it must have been one of the other inmates. His shaky hands curl into fists as he tries to calm himself down once again, all while wracking his brain in hopes he can decipher where the Heart has gone. 

The Mark warms his skin. A heartbeat that’s not his own is at his fingertips. 

When he opens his hand, Sal is holding the strange artifact in it. The fast beating might be due to the many bonecharms surrounding it, but it almost feels as if it’s mocking his own panicked pulse. The Deadstone glows with every heartbeat, reflecting violet light on Sal’s face and all over the small cell room. Someone will notice and come investigate soon. His hand tightens involuntarily around the Heart, clenching the muscle between his fingers. It’s not as malleable as it seems, he can’t even feel the machinery underneath the thick muscle. The Deadstone shines brighter.

“ _Can you hear them too? Crying out in the dark?_ ”

That voice is unmistakable, Sal could recognize it anywhere. His hands hold onto the Heart as if his life depended on it and the Deadstone brightens the room. The heartbeats are almost deafening to Sal’s ears and yet he can hear perfectly the words whispered, as if the owner was talking softly in his ear. 

_"He's thinking of a morning, not so long ago. They walked and held hands as the sun turned the sky red and blue."_

Larry’s voice —strange in its grave monotone, but still so familiar it hurt— echoes from the empty chambers of the Heart.

* * *

  
  
There’s a scream trapped in Sal’s throat ever since he woke up today. He feels feverish and dizzy, like he’ll pass out at any given second. If he felt like he was going through his days like a ghost would —oblivious to his surroundings and barely there at all— he now feels even worse. Maybe he died in the Void and he just hasn’t realized it. 

But other inmates and guards do notice him, even if they avoid him for the most part. He suspects it might be more so because of his bloodshot eyes and general jumpiness than out of some strange sense of respect. He’s thankful nonetheless; Sal isn’t feeling well enough to deal with the internal workings of prison right now. 

There’s a pulse that it’s not his own, beating steadily, if slowly, somewhere in his chest. 

Sally can’t stop repeating the scene from this morning; he can clearly see the Heart clutched in his shaking hands, violet light filtering through stone, wire and sinew. He can hear the words rattling him to his core. He’s absolutely sure that had been Larry’s voice. He sounded so distant, quiet… It’s not a tone he heard Larry use often, only on the very bad days when even talking felt like an impossible task. To hear him again felt like a rush of emotions crashing into his ribs, robbing him of any steady ground. He wants to cry, to scream at the Outsider, to demand an explanation for this twisted gift. 

‘ _The Heart of a living thing, molded by my hands.’_

He digs the heels of his hands into the eyes of his mask, trying hard to resist the urge to pull at his hair in frustration. He remembers the Outsider explaining vaguely what the artifact would help him with, but now Sal doesn’t even want to think too much about what exactly the Heart is made of.

(There’s a pit in his stomach that tells him it is Larry’s actual beating, mechanized heart that he held in his hands. He has no way of actually confirming this, but something in him just seems to _know_. Maybe it’s the Outsider’s magic giving him insight, maybe it’s just his gut. Regardless, he hates it.

He hates even more the fact that he wants to hear Larry’s voice again, even if it means listening to him through the Heart.)

The Outsider spoke of secrets that would be revealed and Sally, curious as ever, is intrigued by what exactly this entails. It still makes him nervous that someone might catch him with the Heart and decide to throw him in solitary or use this as an excuse to torment him further, but the need to see what else the Outsider’s gifts can give is stronger. Sal’s muscles move by memory, curling his hand into a loose fist as he concentrates hard. He sees the glow cracking under his skin this time, lighting up the Mark with magic that prickles and warms his flesh. The second beating in his chest is gone, instead focused solely on his fingertips as he lets his hand fall open to cradle the appearing Heart.

Sally looks around the yard, wide eyes fleeting from one person to another. No one is looking at him, nor at the bizarre artifact in his hold. He relaxes slightly. He keeps looking back at the guard closest to him just in case. The Heart remains silent and it’s pulse slow and steady. Tentatively, Sal grips it tighter and lets go, like he remembers doing this morning. The Deadstone glows.

_"He was in prison, but they needed more men for the guard."_ Larry’s disembodied voice recites as Sal’s eyes glance at the prison guard. It still sounds like a subdued, monotone version of him, but it’s Larry. It feels like an eternity since he last could hear him speak. Sal’s gaze is lost in a small crowd of inmates talking on the far end of the yard as he squeezes the Heart and the Stone glows again. 

_“They have many scars; some consequence of their own choices, some from duty for obsession, some from the nameless monsters from the Void.”_

An inmate covered in tattoos and with shaved green hair abruptly looks up from the group as the Heart speaks, like a hound that has picked on something and is looking for prey. Sally hastily curls into himself, hiding the artifact from view. The inmate’s gaze jumps from one corner of the yard to another, confused frown on their face; they slowly settle back down and rejoin the conversation they were in. Sal is too far away to make out what the group is saying, but from the person’s expression, they’re muttering some sort of apology or explanation. He decides to turn slightly to hide the Heart from the green-haired inmate’s line of sight. Sensing a pattern, he now looks for another person to focus on, settling for one of the guards near the doors, before gripping the Heart to make the Deadstone glow one more time.  
  
 _“She has seen some strange things, but she only wants to do her job, and be left alone."_

The guard doesn’t look phased at all, she just keeps talking with the man next to her. Sal frowns, wondering what caused the other inmate to react like that. That’s something he’ll need to figure out later, but for now he’s pretty sure he’s gotten the gist of how the Heart’s secrets work. He hears information about whoever he’s focusing on whenever he activates the artifact by holding it. Idly, Sal runs his thumb over the sharp metal and tight muscle, mind wandering as he considers now if this hidden knowledge is limited to only people. Before, in his cell, he hadn’t been looking at anyone in particular and yet…

He isn’t focused on anything as he lets his fingers tighten around the Heart again.

_“How can it be that I know such things?”_

For the first time, Larry’s voice is laced with confusion, his question paused as if he has just realized the strangeness of his circumstances. It makes Sally’s own heart constrict painfully in his chest, almost feeling like someone had knocked the breath out of him with the sharp pain. He bites back a devastated cry. Fingers shaking, he cradles the artifact against him, as if somehow he could hold Larry himself this way. For a moment, he hates this cursed gift, hates himself for accepting it; he should know better by now that anything related to the cult is bound to bring him pain. He curls upon himself, closing his eyes. 

The Heart that doesn’t belong to him is gone by the time Sal has to go back into the building, the second heartbeat steady beside his own. He finishes the rest of the day in the same sort of haze that had settled over him ever since he woke up. Once he’s back in his cell, Sally is thankful for the solitude; he is not feeling much better, but the shock has slowly ebbed away and his new reality has settled piece by piece. The Outsider spoke of great trials to come. Sal won’t fool himself into thinking that he hasn’t set something important into motion, much less think that he’ll be saved from being involved in it all. The Mark on his hand is a very clear indication that The Outsider sought him for a reason. He’s now left to try and puzzle what he needs to do next. 

He lays down on his bed, hands running over and over the branded skin of his hand, as he listens to the world around him quiet down to murmurs and distant clangs and echoing steps. An idea he had long forgotten finds its way to the front of his mind, drawing him in with renewed hope. How many times had he thought of escaping? It was useless to even consider it before, with all the cultists that most likely roam the prison under the guise of guards and doctors. But now… now he has the Outsider’s gift, the burn of magic in his veins. Sally knows that it’s unlikely to be easy even with the new advantage that the powers give him, but it feels much more like a possibility. 

He closes his eyes and drifts into dreamless sleep, fingers still tracing the Outsider’s Mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking some liberties with the powers, how the Outsider's magic works, how the Heart works, etc. while taking into account Dishonored's lore too. So some things I might adjust. Also, the Outsider is referred to as they/them mostly because it's a headcanon of mine that he doesn't care much for pronouns but tends to use more he/they.
> 
> As a sidenote, I work kind of slowly and don't really have a set schedule for updates, so... sorry in advance for that.


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